


Chicago--L.A.--San Francisco

by FlintMcC



Category: Eddie and the Cruisers (1983)
Genre: M/M, Some mention of drug use.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlintMcC/pseuds/FlintMcC
Summary: Eddie Wilson tells Frank Ridgeway some surprising, even shocking, things about the first few years after he disappeared in 1964. This continues the story line of the author's "The Love That's Blind," the filmEddie and the Cruisers II: Eddie Lives!,and the author's "Remember the Caesura."





	1. Chapter 1

Rock Solid had a week-long gig at Madison Square Garden in New York City. Eddie Wilson was on edge until Frank Ridgeway assured him that he could come up from Vineland for the weekend. That made Eddie very happy. Since their reunion after Eddie’s return, they had gotten together whenever they could, but it hadn’t been often. It had been a long time now since Eddie had seen his Wordman, his Frankie. He assured Frank that there would be a ticket for him at the box office (a good seat, too), and that Security would be instructed to let him backstage after the performance. They would spend the weekend together.

Frank left Vineland as soon as school was out on Friday and drove directly to New York. He made it in time for the performance. Eddie might no longer be the cocky young rocker he was when they met at Tony Mart’s in the summer of Sixty-two, but he could still get an audience on its feet, Frank noted happily. The list of songs that the band played was always a mix of old Cruisers songs, Rock Solid songs, and covers of other artists, but one thing never varied: Eddie always opened with “On the Dark Side,” the Cruisers’ biggest hit, and ended with “The Pride & Passion,” Rock Solid’s biggest hit.

When they met backstage after the show, they hugged each other long and hard. Eddie surprised Frank by kissing him right in front of Rick Diesel, Rock Solid’s lead guitarist, and Quinn Quinley, the bass player, who said nothing but looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Eddie’s good friend Hilton Overstreet, the band’s saxophone player, just smiled. Hilton had it figured out.

When everything was taken care of backstage, it was very late—or very early. Eddie and Frank went out for breakfast at an all-night diner. Hilton came along, and so did Marvin Pouce, the band’s manager, who had come from Montreal to discuss future gigs with Eddie. As they ate, Marvin mentioned a few possible places and dates, while Eddie nodded distractedly. He was too happy that Frank was there to think of little else, but when Marvin mentioned a date in Chicago the following February, Eddie snapped to attention. With the flat of his hand, he slapped the top of the table so hard that Frank’s coffee sloshed over the brim of his cup. No. Eddie positively ruled that out. He would not play a date in Chicago in the winter. Frank and Hilton glanced at each other, but neither said anything.

When they left the diner Eddie seemed moody, distant, and distracted. Despite his eagerness for Frank’s visit, he said barely a word all the way to his hotel room. He said nothing when Frank said he needed to shower. He was already in bed when Frank came out of the bathroom. He was a little annoyed that Eddie didn’t even look at him when he slid into bed. Still, he felt it best to let Eddie alone till he was over whatever was bothering him. Frank felt sure it had something to do with the proposed Chicago gig. But finally, as they lay close together, Frank said, “Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

Frank propped himself up on his elbow. “Why don’t you want to take that gig in Chicago?”

Eddie didn’t answer at first. Finally, he turned to Frank. “Frankie,” he said, “there’s a lot I never told you about those years I was away.”

“I know.”

“And you never asked.”

“I figured if there was something you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

“You trust me like that?”

“Of course I do.” Frank was surprised that Eddie would even ask.

Eddie was quiet for a long time. Finally, his voice low, he said, “I took money for it, Frankie.”

“For what? I don’t understand.” Frank sat up in bed, looking at Eddie, who continued to lie on his back.

Eddie turned to look at him. “Sex, Frankie,” he said a little sharply. “I took money for sex.”

“Why? How?” Frank hardly knew what to say.


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly Eddie began the story. “After the accident, I grabbed all the cash I could get my hands on and just headed west. A truck driver picked me up at a rest stop on the P.A. Turnpike, and when he asked me my name, I said ‘Joe.’ That was the first name came into my head. ‘Where you headed?’ he said, and I just said ‘West.’ So that was how Eddie Wilson became Joe West.” He gave Frank a rueful little smile. Then he continued.

“So, I got to Chicago, and I was pretty hard up for a day or two, and then I got this job washin’ dishes in a diner, and I got my meals with it, and I got a bed in this two-bit flophouse. I unloaded trucks and I bar-backed and I did whatever I could to keep from freezin’ and starvin’.

“But then there was this one day in the winter of Sixty-five. There was snow on the ground, and it was cold, Frankie, so cold. I never been so cold in my life. So I’m standin’ on this street corner, freezin’ to death, and I’m down to my last dime.” Eddie paused a moment. He looked intently at Frank. “I mean that, Frankie, I mean all I had left in my pocket was one dime. I didn’t know what to do. And it was cold, so cold. I even thought about throwin’ myself in the lake and just endin’ it all.

“So then this big Caddie pulls over to the curb where I’m standin’, and the driver rolls down the window. I can feel the heat from the car heater. And I was so cold. So the driver leans over, and he says, ‘Hey, buddy, you need a ride?’ I said, ‘No, thanks.’ So he says, ‘Okay,’ and he starts to roll up the window. But then he stops. And he rolls it back down, and he says, ‘Get in here, buddy, before you freeze your ass off.’ I had an idea where he was goin’, but I was so cold, and the air comin’ outta that car heater was so warm, so I got in. Guy says his name is George. He was maybe around forty, a little bald on top, a little paunchy around the middle. He had a nice face. He puts his hand on my thigh, and he says, ‘C’mon, we’ll go to my place.’ Then I was sure what he was after, but I was so cold, and it was so warm in that car, so I didn’t say anything.

“He had this really nice apartment, and when we got there, he says to me, ‘How’d you like a nice hot shower?’ Nothin’ ever sounded so good to me, so I said, ‘Sure.’ Frankie, I never had a shower that felt as good as that one. I was cold through to my bones, and I thought I’d never warm up again, and I just stood in that shower under that hot water and I finally started getting warm again.

“So I come out of the shower, and my clothes are gone. George says, ‘I thought maybe you’d like some clean clothes, so I put ‘em in the washer. They’re just about ready to go into the dryer. There’s a robe on the back of the bathroom door you can wear.’ It was this big, thick, terrycloth robe, so I put it on, and I came back out of the bathroom, and George was standin’ there with this big pot of coffee, and he says, ‘Coffee?’ I said ‘Sure,’ so he pours me a mug, and we sat at his table, and he asks me about myself. I didn’t say much, and he didn’t push me. Then he says, ‘You hungry?’ Well, I was starvin’ so I said. ‘Yeah.’ So he goes and makes me a roast beef sandwich. With brown mustard. Frankie, I was so hungry, nothin’ ever tasted as good as that roast beef sandwich. I can still taste it.” Eddie paused a minute and smiled at the memory of that roast beef sandwich. Then he went on.

“So I’m sittin’ there eatin’ this sandwich, and George comes over an’ he leans over and puts his hand on my shoulder, an’ real quiet he says, ‘Let’s go into the bedroom.’ For a minute I didn’t say anything. I just sat there and stared at the plate.” His face, as he looked at Frank, turned solemn, and maybe even a little afraid, afraid of what Frank might think. Nevertheless, he looked Frank right in the eyes and said, “So after a minute, I got up and he took me into the bedroom. He pushed the robe off me, and I’m standin’ there naked, and he gets on his knees, and he puts his hand on my dick and starts strokin’ it till I got hard. Then he gave me a blow job while he jerked off.”

Frank said nothing, so Eddie went on.

“An’ when he was done, he told me I could sleep with him. I said, ‘No, I’ll go.’ Then he says, ‘C’mon, you’ll freeze to death out there. At least stay the night. You can sleep on the couch.’ I thought about it a minute, an’ then I said, ‘Okay.’ So he got me a pillow and some blankets, and I slept on the couch.

“In the morning he made us this big breakfast, eggs, an’ bacon, an’ home fries, an’ toast, an’ coffee. When we were done eatin’ he says, ‘Can I drop you anywhere?’ I said, ‘Yeah. The bus station.’ I didn’t know what I was gonna do when I got there, since I didn’t have any money for a ticket, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. So he drove me to the bus station, and when I was gettin’ outta the car, he shoves this wad of bills at me. I said I couldn’t take it, and he says, ‘Go on, take it.’ I couldn’t look at him,” Eddie paused, and he looked apprehensively at Frank. He swallowed. “And I took the money. I got outta the car, an’ he waved his hand, an’ he said, ‘Take care of yourself, Joe.’ Then he drove away.”

For a minute or two, Eddie said nothing, while Frank waited quietly for him to go on. Finally, he said, “That wad of bills was two hundred bucks, Frankie, two hundred bucks. There was a bus leavin’ for Saint Louis in ten minutes, and I was on it.” He went silent for a few minutes, remembering. Then, almost wistfully, he said, “He was a good guy, George.”

“Yes,” Frank agreed quietly. “He was a good guy.”

“Anyway,” Eddie said, “that’s why I don’t want to play Chicago in the winter. The memories.”

Frank nodded his understanding.


	3. Chapter 3

For some minutes they were both silent. Then Frank said, “What did you do next?”

“I stayed in Saint Louis till spring, and then I headed out. I always did pretty much the same stuff, washin’ dishes, bar back, unloadin’ trucks, whatever. I didn’t really think about it at first, but I was actually headin’ for California. I was basically following Route Sixty-six.” He stopped and grinned at Frank. “You remember that old song, don’t you Frankie?”

Frank chuckled a bit. “’Get your kicks on Route Sixty-six,’” he smiled.

“I stopped off for a while a couple of different places on the way, worked at any kind of job I could pick up, the same stuff as always. For a while I worked with this landscaper, mowin’ grass, until I had a little money. Once an old lady gave me a glass of milk and a ham sandwich for getting her cat down out of a tree.” He grinned at the memory. “Then I moved on. It took me about a year, and I got to L.A. early in Sixty-six.

“I got this job unloadin’ trucks with this guy Manny. He was Mexican. Real good guy. Sometimes he even took me home for one of his wife’s home-cooked meals. He always paid me just what he promised me. The trouble was, all the money was under the table, and Manny couldn’t pay me until he got paid, and sometimes that money didn’t come in very fast. I was livin’ in this fleabag motel, and I still never had any money.” He paused a bit and sighed. He looked warily at Frank. “Then I found out there was this place you could hang out, and guys would come and give you twenty buck to let them blow you.”

“You were a hustler,” Frank said, his voice flat. He stared at Eddie, appalled. He could hardly believe what he was hearing: Eddie Wilson a hustler.

Eddie sighed again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I was.” He was quiet for a few moments. He looked a little sad. Without looking at Frank, he said, “One night I made sixty bucks.” Again he was quiet for a while. The way he said it, Frank couldn’t tell if he was proud of making that much money or ashamed of what he did for it.

Then he continued, “Anyway, one day I was walkin’ down Hollywood Boulevard. I passed this gas station, and there was a Coke machine out in front. I was thirsty, so I stopped to get a Coke. This guy comes up and starts talkin’ to me. His name was Scotty Bowers, and he ran the place. He gave me a good lookin’-over, and then he says to me, Did I want to make some extra cash?” Eddie stopped and shook his head. “I was always short of money. Sometimes I could either eat, or pay my rent, but not both, so I said, ‘Okay, what do I have to do?’ He told me he arranged dates, he called them, with some of the bigshots in Hollywood, actors, directors, writers, producers, people like that, and some of them would be interested in a young guy like me. He said he could fix me up with some dates, and I got to keep whatever money they gave me.”

“He was a pimp,” Frank said, his face blank.

“Yeah, I guess so, but he never asked me for any money they gave me,” Eddie said. “And I always needed money.”

Frank was nearly dumbstruck by what Eddie was telling him. The singer who had topped the charts in the summer of 1963 with “On the Dark Side” had traded sex with other men for money. He was so shocked he didn’t even think to ask who Eddie might have “dated.”

“Anyway,” Eddie went on, “one day Scotty fixes me up with this guy. Said he was a producer. Drove a big Caddie convertible. Big house in the hills with a pool and a deck that looked out over L.A. So we get there, and he says, ‘How’d you like to take a swim?’ I said, ‘Okay, but I don’t have a suit.’ He looks at me kinda funny, and then he says, ‘You don’t need one.’ I stood there for a minute or two, just lookin’ at him, and then I took my clothes off and jumped in the pool. He just stretched out in this lounge chair and watched me swim.

“After a while, he says to me, ‘How about a drink?’ So I got out of the pool, and he hands me this towel. I dried off, and I was reachin’ for my pants when he says, ‘You don’t need them.’ There was this guy, houseboy I guess, standin’ there with some drinks on a tray. He gives me a drink, and we sit down, and he looks at me kinda funny, and I’m drinkin’ this drink, and I start to feel kinda dizzy. Next thing I know, I’m stretched out over that lounge, and he’s fuckin’ me.”

“Oh, my God!” Frank exclaimed, his face registering his shock. He leaned toward Eddie. “He raped you! He drugged you and he raped you!”

Eddie said nothing for a moment. Then, “Yeah,” he said quietly, “he raped me.”

“What did you do?”

“I yelled at him to get the fuck off me, and I pushed him off me and knocked him flat on that deck of his. He called me a whore and a faggot, and I grabbed my clothes and got the hell outta there.”

“Oh, Eddie,” was all Frank could think to say. He reached over and put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie bowed his head for a few minutes. When he finally looked at Frank, he said, “I never went back to Scotty Bowers’s gas station. As soon as Manny was able to pay me the money he owed me, I got outta L.A. and headed up to San Francisco. By then it was the summer of Sixty-seven,” he paused.


	4. Chapter 4

Frank thought about that for a minute: The summer of 1967. Finally, he said, “’The Summer of Love.’”

Eddie nodded agreement. “’The Summer of Love.’”

“What was it like?” Frank asked. He remembered where he was in the summer of Sixty-seven. His college draft deferment ended with his graduation from Benton College. In the summer of 1967, he was getting inducted into the Army.

“A lot of crazy shit went on in that city that summer,” Eddie said. “Thousands and thousands of kids from all over everywhere. And, no, before you ask, I did not wear flowers in my hair.”

Frank grinned, but then his face turned somber. “What did you do?” he asked.

“You mean, did I hustle?” Frank looked embarrassed, but he nodded, saying nothing.

Eddie sighed. “I did for a couple of days till I got some money, but then I was walkin’ past this pawn shop, and there was this old six-string in the window. Came with a case. It took all the money I had in my pocket, but I bought it. Then I just sat down on a street corner and started playin’ and singin’ a little. I earned enough for a decent meal at a cheap diner.

“I did that for a week or so, and then this guy stops and listens for a while. Said he owned a bar, and would I like to come play and sing in it? It was only for tips, but I said, Sure. So that’s what I did, and I ended up playin’ in a couple different bars.”

He went on, “You know, that summer I met Paul Kantner and Steve Miller.”

“You mean Paul Kantner of Jefferson Airplane and Steve Miller of the Steve Miller Band?” Frank asked.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I jammed with Miller a couple of times. He asked me to join his band, but I said no.”

“Why?”

Eddie gave a little chuckle. “He said he thought I sounded a lot like Eddie Wilson.” Eddie shook his head and grinned a bit. “I didn’t want people askin’ too many questions about Joe West,” he added. “I wasn’t ready.”

Frank nodded. They were both silent for a few minutes, and then Eddie said quietly, “I dropped acid a couple of times that summer.”

Frank had never done anything harder than weed. When he was in the Army in Vietnam, he had seen far too many good young men ruined by an addiction to heroin. He was genuinely shocked by Eddie’s admission, and Eddie could tell from the look on his face. Eddie went on, “It didn’t do what they told me it would do. It didn’t make me creative, or anything like that. The first time I just felt weird. The second time I had a bad trip, so that was it for me.”

“Where did you stay?” Frank asked.

“I found this place where a lot of kids were crashin’, real hippie types.” Eddie looked thoughtful. “There was this girl stayin’ there, runway, from Dubuque or Des Moines or someplace like that. Then one night she OD’d.” Eddie went quiet, then he turned and looked directly at Frank. “Fifteen years old,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “That was when I knew I had to get out. I grabbed that old guitar and my stuff and I split. I headed north.”


	5. Chapter 5

After a few moments, Frank asked, “What did you do after you left San Francisco?”

“I just did what I always did, odd jobs, whatever I could get, played that guitar and sang. I spent some time workin’ in a lumber camp in Oregon.”

“You were a lumberjack?”

Eddie chuckled. “I peeled potatoes. I worked in the kitchen. Sometimes I’d play that guitar, and the guys would tip me.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I crossed the border in the summer of Sixty-nine. In Vancouver I talked my way into a carpenter apprenticeship. I was a little old for it, but I lied about my age, and nobody asked any questions. After I finished that apprenticeship, I worked in Vancouver for a while, doin’ construction. Then I spent the next couple of years workin’ my way across Canada, a year here, six months there, Calgary, Winnipeg, Ottawa, Toronto, anyplace I could get work. I had a couple of girlfriends those years, but nothing ever lasted too long. I didn’t want them getting too curious about my past. I landed in Montreal in Seventy-four, and that’s where I stayed. I met Hilton. He’s the first real friend I had in all those years. Then Rick and I formed Rock Solid. We played that music festival, and you know the rest.”

Frank nodded. They were quiet for a while, and then Eddie said, “So, what do you think?”

“About what?” Frank answered.

“About me taking money for it.”

Frank didn’t say anything for a while. Then, very quietly, he said, “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?!” Eddie sat up. He wasn’t expecting that answer.

Frank leaned very close. He caressed Eddie’s cheek. “I mean, I sorry you did it, but you did what you had to do to survive, and you did survive.” He went quiet for a moment or two. Then he continued. “For twenty years I thought you were dead, and I never stopped loving you, even though I’d never see you again. Then you came back, and you’re back in my life, and that’s all that matters to me, not what you did for twenty years, just that we’re together again, here and now. I love you, and I would love you no matter what.”

“You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

Eddie shook his head. He pulled Frank close, hugged him, kissed him, and said quietly, “You’re too good for me, Frankie”

“No, I’m not. You’re a rock and roll legend. I’m just a high school teacher from Jersey.”

“The hell you are. You’re my Wordman, and you always will be. I love you, Frankie.”

Frank put his arms on Eddie’s shoulders. He leaned in and kissed him for a long time. Then he sat back and with eyebrows raised, said, “Okay, then, are you gonna fuck me for free, or am I gonna have to pay for it?”

“Ha! I’ll give you a free sample!” Eddie laughed. He rolled over on top of Frank and lifted Frank’s legs onto his shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> Scotty Bowers was a real person. His memoirs were published as _Full Service_ (2001). I took some liberty with the chronology of his life. He did run a gas station in the post-World War II period, and he did arrange “dates” with Hollywood types, some big names among them, but by 1966 he was long gone from running the gas station.


End file.
